All That Glitters
by MuserFZ
Summary: Based on the fan-created After Colony timeline of Forever Zero, a Gundam Wing RPG, All That Glitters takes place between the game's first and second chapters.
1. Passing Embers

Mid December, AC 208  
  
Fire. A searing tongue of it whipped around Gabriel Sinclair's legs as he came to an abrupt halt, his run interrupted by this sudden obstacle. The padded material of his flight suit, designed to withstand the rigors of outer space, began to heat up, its fibres smouldering before he could bat away most of the sparks. A sharp sensation lanced through his skull, signalling that he had been too late. At least one burn, the extent uncertain. Unfortunately, there was no time to tend to it.  
  
All around him, the world was falling apart. Walls exploded outward, casting shards of metal and snaking coils of conduit on to the deck. Fires blossomed from every surface, flaring and fading without any warning while the damaged sprinkler systems tried to contain them. Even the alarms were on death's door, their piercing klaxons gradually winding down into dull noise, ceaseless and without meaning. It wouldn't be long before the area Gabriel was in would cease to exist, much like his crew quarters had a few moments ago.  
  
Illyria Beta, the premier space research station of the Grand Cross Empire, was falling.  
  
Two hundred and eight years ago, humanity had seen fit to expand from the cradle of its existence, moving to the stars. Over population, pollution, and depleted resources had tried the limits of the Earth, forcing this alternative. As generations passed, those who had immigrated to space constructed gigantic colonies; self-contained cities that resembled a bottled microcosm of what had been left behind. In the more recent years, many of these settlements had come under the jurisdiction of the GCE, a totalitarian regime manipulated by a clandestine power structure. This had not boded well with the people of Earth, who had objected to the sudden changes among the colonies. Disagreement had sparked war, which now translated into the chaos that had enveloped Gabriel's world.  
  
A massive collection of cargo bunkers, spacecraft, work stations, and habitat modules, the sprawling facility stretched a good three miles in diameter, making it the largest of its kind to date. Hanging amidst the stars, this massive construct served in the military ranks of the GCE, providing new innovations for its soldiers to field in defence of their homeland. As a test pilot, it was the nineteen year old Gabriel's duty to shakedown many of these weapons, most importantly the humanoid battle tanks known as mobile suits.  
  
Ignoring the rising stench of burnt cloth, Gabriel pushed on ahead, keeping an arm up over his face. The station had been caught by surprise, and was currently defenceless against the invading squadrons of the Earth's United Alliance military. Garbled reports on his personal communicator hinted that the enemy had already demolished the Illyria's defence perimeter, and was pushing into its inner sanctum. It was only a matter of time before they....  
  
BOOM!  
  
Though distant, the explosion resonated throughout the entire deck, sending Gabriel to his knees as he grasped for support. He could feel the far-away tug of an opened airlock, probably wrenched apart to expose the vacuum beyond. Getting to his feet, he dove forward, rolling under a security door as it slammed shut, sealing the area behind him.  
  
"Whew... too close," he breathed, breaking into a run again. Ahead, he could hear a collection of coughs, a sign of life. Restraining a cheer, he pushed on farther, squinting through the heat induced haze to see who was there. Stepping though a hatchway, he found himself on the catwalk of the station's secondary hanger deck. A cavernous expanse that seemed pocked with small blazes and damage, it stank of burning fuel and bubbling coolant.  
  
Two figures, both leaning against the nearest guardrail, both looked up as he approached. The tall, lanky young man Gabriel recognized immediately: his best friend, would-be rival, and partner in crime, Ensign Julian Davenport gave a shake of his sandy blonde hair, wiping the soot away from his brow. The other, cursing and swearing as she rubbed her eyes, was his project chief and coordinator, Lieutenant Silvia Cassidy. Giving her reddish brown hair a shake, she squinted back at him, and then gave a long sigh of relief.  
  
"Damn it, Sinclair," she coughed out, "we thought you were space dust. We just heard that all of D block was just blown open."  
  
Gabriel afforded a smile despite the situation. "My luck, I was on my way to the officer's mess, to sneak some breakfast," he replied, helping them both along the walk.  
  
"Looks like thinking with your stomach finally saved you, you blighter," Julian croaked, coughing out another mouthful of smoke. Though both young men hailed from the same county of Britain's North Country, Gabriel had long since rid himself of his local accent, while his friend had not only maintained his own, but had perfected it to a dramatically exaggerated degree.  
  
"And I suppose you weren't up for coffee and scones, eh Jules?" Gabriel returned, kicking a collection of metal debris aside as they pressed on.  
  
"Perish the thought," his friend managed a smile. "I was up for some earlier practice when all of Damnation began to rain down."  
  
"Hey, you crazy Brits, this is serious!" Silvia shrugged aside Gabriel's helping arm, and walked on ahead. "We need to get to the suits, pronto!"  
  
"My dear girl," Jules followed her lead, walking ahead, "what do you propose we do? Fight back? There must be dozens of them. Hundreds!"  
  
"It's better than waiting to die here!" she retorted. "Besides, Gabe agrees with me." She gave Sinclair an angry look.  
  
"Ah, say it ain't so, old boy," Jules said, turning back to him in resignation.  
  
Gabriel flinched, and nodded, knowing that Silvia was right. Decks were losing pressure by the minute, with no sign of the attack letting up. It was sink or swim, and he'd rather swim. "Sorry buddy," he shrugged, "the lady's got the better idea." He broke into a jog, following Silvia's lead.  
  
"Bugger!" Jules cursed, and ran after them.  
  
The trio made their way across the hanger, and to its far end, where a series of gantries awaited them. Lined paddocks, each proportioned to a good sixty feet in height, these areas served as the maintenance and storage stalls for the units that Gabriel and Julian were responsible for perfecting. Even now, with the mounting storm of activity, they sat by, watching idly. Two mobile suits, armoured giants with bulky shoulders and snub-nosed rifles, along with a compact form that resembled a gun turret on squat legs, awaited them. The twin Koshi prototypes, and the EC-21 platform, these were the spoils of the Silvia's Mercutio Project, once a possible leap in the GCE's mobile weapons technology. Now, that possibility was threatened, unless the three comrades could somehow turn the tide against the invaders.  
  
All three stopped, and turned to one another. "So, whose gonna to take what?" Silvia was the first to speak, gaze darting back and forth between the two men and the mobile units. Gabriel, who really hadn't thought about that condition, just shrugged.  
  
Julian saw the confusion in his co-workers, and groaned. "Oh, for the love of... , " he growled, and grabbed each one by the arm. "Alrighty, Gabe and you'll take out the big lads, and start whipping those Earth blokes outside. I'll take our tin can, and weed 'em out down here."  
  
"Are you crazy?!" Silvia's mouth gaped. "You can't use the the EC's gun inside the station! You'll collapse the hull!"  
  
"My dear girl," Jules managed calmly, "will it really matter in ten seconds?" Before she could reply, Silvia was cut off by another series of explosions. The opposite wall of the hanger began to moan as it was blown outward, pried off its moorings by sets of giant hands and cutting weapons. As a greenish yellow beam blade sliced aside the last of the obstacle, the three GCE soldiers saw the darkened form of a United Alliance mobile suit stride forward. The blocky figure panned its left arm around the chamber, letting loose a series of bluish energy pulses from a shoulder cannon. Behind it, another, slighter figure dove into the fray, rolling to a stop before rising to its feet, gigantic rifle at the ready.  
  
"Move it!" Gabriel yelled, sprinting down the rest of the catwalk. He could feel the earlier burn in his leg starting to throb, but did his best to ignore it. Reaching the end, he grasping a hanging ripcord, and allowed momentum to swing him towards the open cockpit of the waiting Koshi X1. Letting go just short of his goal, he hurtled downward, just managing to get a hold on the hatch's handle. Boosting himself up the rest of the way, he felt something wet run over his hands. Blood. Cursing himself for not wearing gloves, Gabriel ignored the rope burns, tossing himself down into the cockpit seat, sealing himself in.  
  
Lights began to light up, readouts winking into existence as he initiated a cold start of the fusion reactor. The entire mobile suit rumbled underneath him, coolant blasting out connection pumps as they broke loose. Checking his displays, Gabriel found that the X1's powerful particle beam rifle was online, and his beam rapiers were both charged. The shoulder mounted crossfire cannons, high speed laser weapons, had not yet been installed. What's more, though the suit's hefty rifle was primed, its targeting mechanism was not properly calibrated. That could be a problem, but he didn't have time to think about that.  
  
Moving his Koshi forward, Gabriel saw that Silvia was just a step behind him, already raising her own particle rifle. He frowned at the engineer's impetuous behaviour. She wasn't waiting for either himself or Julian to reply with some sort of basic strategy. Still, with the two Earth machines bearing down on them, there was little choice. Gritting his teeth, he pushed onward.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Brian Amis braced his massive Orion Alpha to the deck, watching the three enemy units begin their advance. As a part of the United Alliance's infiltration team, he and his wing man, Jason Singer, had been assigned to pacify and secure this deck. Their superiors had warned them about the various military research projects that were conducted here and the possibility of an active prototype or two putting up some resistance. Still, neither pilot had expected three adversaries to be waiting for them.  
  
Singer's elaborate entrance, complete with commando style roll, had attracted most of the attention. While his smaller Foxhound mobile suit lacked the Orion-A's heavy armour and flight ability, its nimble frame could easily perform movements that its counterpart found physically taxing. Even now, the younger Singer was sniping at the oncoming GCE units with his beam rifle, letting golden hued shots wash over the lead suit and its squat follower.  
  
Amis smiled, knowing that the two Earth machines had a clear advantage. The three targets before them were likely novice pilots, trainees or engineers at best. What's more, their machines were pre production models, and might not even be combat worthy yet. Just the same, he'd rather be cautious; they still outnumbered him.  
  
He signalled his partner over the comm channel: "Singer, take the dumpster our, I'll distract the other two until you're done," he glanced at his target data, centering the crosshairs on the oncoming mobile suit. "Back me up when you're done."  
  
"You got it, Mr. Leader, sir," Singer replied, with his usual good humour. His Foxhound turned its rifle on the hobbling EC-21, peppering it with fire. Armoured plates were shaved away in seconds, exposing a crackling array of wires and servos. Things were looking up.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Gabriel watched Julian's EC-21 take fire, and quickly turned his sights to the attacker. The waddling turret was not designed for direct combat, and wouldn't last long against the Earth Foxhound. Raising the X1's rifle, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as heat coursed through the cockpit. The generators charged, and let loose a furious stream of reddish light, ploughing through the Foxhound's upper body. The target's left side seemed to go limp, its arm falling away in a charred mess. Smiling, Gabriel signalled Julian over the comm channel.  
  
"Jules, old man, send this UA blighter back were he came from, will you?" he chuckled, throwing back to his old accent.  
  
"Now you're talking sensibly, dear fellow," Jules laughed, turning the EC- 21 into line with the Foxhound. The entire machine quivered as scarlet energy ripped over its form, right from the muzzle of Jules' turret barrel. A more powerful version of the Koshi's particle rifle, the EC's cannon could finish off the wounded Earth soldier in a single shot.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Brian's jaw had dropped as the lead mobile suit's lone shot had nearly crippled his partner. Realizing the full extent of what they had gotten themselves into, the two UA pilots were starting to fall back, looking for possible cover in the corridors from where they had come. Glancing back to the diminutive EC-21, his eyes widened at the growing storm that surrounded it. Grabbing his transmitter, he practically screamed to his partner.  
  
"Jason!" panic was rising in his voice, not a good sign. "Back off! That dumpster's got live weapons! Get out of there now!"  
  
Too late.  
  
Julian's red energy stream hurtled out of the barrel, washing over Singer's mobile suit. In seconds, the Foxhound crumpled away, its upper body completely atomized under the fire. A pair of mechanical legs clattered to the hanger floor, half melted into a fused mesh. Singer hadn't even gotten a chance to scream.  
  
Rage began to build within Brian, growing as his mind fully processed this sight. He was angry; at those GCE pilots for their heartless attack, at Jason for having played the hero, and himself for just watching it all transpire. Charging his Orion forward, he leapt over the Foxhound's meagre remains, and brought his beam sabre down upon the EC-21. The glowing blade sliced through the test type like butter, cleaving into two even pieces before it was cast into internal flames. Still, Brian was not satisfied. He turned to the other two targets.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Gabriel was dumbfounded. One moment, he and Julian had been celebrating the first kill, the next his best friend had ceased to exist. All that was left of him had been scattered along the floor by the Earth Orion-A, kicked aside as the United Alliance machine stomped forward, blade poised to strike. Focusing on his training, he started to shake off his grief, saving it for a more appropriate time. However, before he could meet the Orion's charge, Silvia's own Koshi skidded to a halt between the two. Firing her particle rifle, she managed to strip away the aggressor's right side, ruining his shoulder and arm weaponry. Still, it kept coming, stabbing its blade downward through her Koshi's waist, sending it to the floor.  
  
"Silvia!" Gabriel's shout seemed pointless, the damage had been done.  
  
"I'm... I'm okay," she replied, static building over the comm channel. "That S.O.B. just severed X2's leg linkage, I can't move. Damn it!" He heard her punch once of her screens, no doubt injuring her hand in the process. The Orion, meanwhile, pushed her aside, and continued to stalk towards Gabriel.  
  
Raising his rifle again, Gabriel took aim, and fired. The shot, without proper targeting calculations however, went wide, tearing open another hole in the hanger's far wall. It was too late to adjust his aim as the UA pilot brought his sabre blade down over the X1's gun hand, severing it and the rifle from their mount. Reaching back with the Koshi's opposite arm, Gabriel unlatched one of them beam rapiers hanging from his suit's waist. The purplish blade sprouted to life, just in time to parry a second swing from his foe.  
  
The two mobile suits sparred across the hanger, the Orion letting down a fierce serious of rapid strikes, the rage of its pilot fuelling every cut. Gabriel could only block the attacks, and wait for an opening. Suddenly, he found himself trapped against a wall, penned in with nowhere to turn. Behind his attacker, he could see Silvia's X2 prop itself up on its free arm, using its rifle to fend off another team of UA machines that was coming into the hanger.  
  
Looking back to the Orion, he watched it rear its arm back, about to deliver the coup de grace. Thinking fast, Gabriel twisted his rapier over in his suit's hand, thrusting it forward, hoping to strike his attacker square in the chest cockpit. The blade sunk through armour, but the Orion advanced like a speared boar running up its hunter's weapon. The strike had been off center, thought portions of the beam blade had crackled into the pilot's compartment. Inside, Brian was biting back screams as the intense heat from the rapier literally cooked the flesh of his left side. He refused to give up, craving only revenge.  
  
The Orion's beam sabre stopped just inches from the Koshi, both suits beginning to feel the extent of their respective damage. One by one, each man watched instruments die, robbing them of the opportunity to avenge their fallen friends. Sinking back into his seat, Gabriel waited for what would undoubtedly be a UA commando team to crack open his cockpit, and haul him away to a holding cell. Brian also fell back, giving in to the pain that was blurring his thoughts, slipping into unconsciousness. Before resigning themselves, both men silently promised to find out the identity of the other, so they might somehow finish what they started. 


	2. In Leviathan's Wake

Late December, AC 208  
  
Listening required concentration. A rushing flow of steam was continuously muffling the sounds of the crowded hanger, cloaking conversations as they blossomed. Not that it really mattered of course; Sebastian Lyboc was not one to pry. Still, he prided himself on his sense of awareness, including his ability to gather information from the most incidental forums. Conversations tended to offer useful tidbits, especially if those involved thought themselves to be isolated. Small facts, idle interests, or even an intimate secret or two had a tendency to slip. Often, they meant nothing, but there had been occasions where the former leader of the Grand Cross Empire had garnered something of reasonable worth. It was a motto that had been drilled into him by his late uncle; one can never know too much.  
  
Then again, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if he could actually hear his former subordinates. At the moment, he had far too much on his mind. As his somber sub-commander, Sydney Dominus, had said just minutes ago, his whole world was coming to an end. Even in the wake of the Leviathan's defeat, the tides of change still proved to be unavoidable. The Empire had fallen. It was time to move on.  
  
"The Empire," never "his Empire." Though he had effectively served as the sole ruling power of humanity's realm amongst the stars, he had never claimed to be the guiding symbol of its existence: its emperor. He was merely the interim operator of complex machine, one that transcended any hollow vanities that he could have adopted. The GCE would have existed with or without him, embodying the spirit of a united colonial government.  
  
Now, that was all gone. In the recent weeks, the continuous assaults of the Earth's United Alliance of Nations, combined with the shadowy efforts of the god-like machine Leviathan, had torn apart the military might that had preserved the GCE's stability. His strategies against the encroaching armies had failed, torn apart by the ineptitude of his supporters and the betrayal of his comrades. Many of his most trusted allies, friends who he would unquestionably entrusted his life too, had shown their true colors in the face of defeat. By now, at least half of his surviving battalions were contemplating defection, preferring to be on the "right" side once the final curtain fell.  
  
Three days ago, Sebastian had gathered with the last of his loyal supports in the Jericho Sea, an asteroid infested sector of space that ran near the infamous Shoals of Lagrange Point 4. Hundreds of miles of debris stretched across the latter region, much of it drifting into the former. It was a silent lesson in military history, bearing the left-over scrap from generations of warfare. It was also the ideal hiding place, able to mask even the largest fleets in total obscurity.  
  
The plan had been to strike the UA flank as it advanced into the deepest reaches of the L4 area. With luck, it would have placed the enemy formation into total disarray, baffling even the turncoats who had joined them. This saving grace for the GCE was not destined to pass, however. Without warning, chaos had erupted near the Earth itself, when a derelict colony appeared to be on a collision course with the planet. In reality, this wreck housed the massive, reconstructed body of the Leviathan, a self aware mobile weapon with an incredible intellect. Bent on exterminating the warmongering human race, it attacked both sides without mercy.  
  
Lyboc had found himself in a tense truce with the UA fleet, moving his supporters to Earth to fight alongside them against the mechanized beast. After a long, bloody conflict, the techno-titan was obliterated, though the victory cries were short-lived. Within moments, UA ships and squadrons were demanding the surrender of the surviving colony forces, offering "fair" terms in light of their recent aide. Fair... the very notion was a mockery. Even now, Sebastian had been told that complying commanders were suddenly stripped of their positions, vanishing amidst a regime of interrogations and reallocations. Most would likely turn up in a few months, captaining garbage haulers, salvage ships, and resource transports as part of their "re-education." Others would not be so lucky.  
  
He fell into that category. For his crimes against the UA, as well as his role in countless wartime incidents, it was likely that a mock trial and swift execution awaited Sebastian. There was no mercy for scapegoats, especially in the post-war period. He knew that they already had his closest associate, Intelligence Chief Marcus Kingsley. He would be questioned, and then paraded around before the media as a trophy before they sent him to the gas chamber. Sebastian wanted to avoid that fate, at all costs.  
  
So, now he was here, on a crumbling mining survey site just outside the Earth's orbit. The facility would soon be under attack by the UA's cleanup battalions, who would weed out the last of his flotilla. Panning his gaze over the congested docking bay, he watched dozens of soldiers say their good-byes to one another. Most would scatter about the colony region, hoping to lose themselves. Others had planned on returning to the Earth, abandoning their former lives to make a fresh start. Sebastian envied them. For the common soldier, escape was just a name change away. Known officials like him were far less fortunate.  
  
There was a third category of fate attached to the previous two, and that was embracing the inevitable. A handful of soldiers, distraught by the loss of the war, the knowledge of their deeds, or the fact that they would never see their families again, had decided to take the easiest way out of their suffering. Sydney Rebecca Dominus was one of those people. The death of Sebastian's predecessor, Leopold Torquemada, had shattered the young woman weeks ago. She had abandoned all traces of human emotion, becoming nothing more than a flesh and blood killing machine. Now that the war was over, her purpose for life had washed away. She was going to join her beloved.  
  
Some would label such individuals as cowards; craven souls who could face reality. Sebastian simply pitied them.  
  
"Sir?" The young technician's voice jarred his senses, shifting his attention away from his thoughts, and back to the real world.  
  
"Sir?" he repeated. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Fine, sergeant, fine," Sebastian assured the boy, a touch of authority in his tone. "How is my Garamonde?" He did not bother asking if the eager lad had indeed checked Lyboc's personal mobile suit. If he had not, then he would not deserve his current reputation for reliability. Besides, he had been ordered to, and a soldier always followed his directives.  
  
"It's not worth saving sir, pardon my saying so," the technician returned, keeping a level tone. Sebastian was impressed. Most would be apprehensive, worried that they may insight his wrath.  
  
"That was expected," Lyboc said, looking past his charge to the decrepit green-and-blue Vayeate Shuivan that he had flown since his enlisted days. "The Leviathan was a worthy foe to lose it to. Better that than to see it locked away in some UA warehouse."  
  
"Sir, what should we do with it?" the technician kept his mind on his job, it seemed. No time for small talk.  
  
"Strip it down, and distribute the parts as needed," Sebastian hid the regret in his voice, knowing that it would only weaken his position. "In the meantime, I want a maintenance crew to service Lt. Commander Dominus' mobile suit."  
  
"The Gundam, sir?" the technician's eyes grew wide for a moment, and then he straightened his features. "Sir, yes sir." His departure was unceremonious, a testimony to the GCE's strict protocol system.  
  
Standing within the largest of the dock's mobile suit paddocks was the burly form of the Shinka. Over twenty meters in height, with wide shoulders and sweeping thrust baffles, the mobile suit dwarfed all of those around it. As a Gundam, it bore an altered version of the trademark sensor head and crest arrangement, though lending an appearance that radiated ferocity. Its hefty beam cannon was more powerful than an arsenal, making the machine the premier assault unit of the GCE. Few things could harm Shinka, and even fewer could come close to even threatening it. During the battle with the Leviathan, the Gundam had stood its ground against the automated hordes pitched against it.  
  
Now, it was silent, dead. Its pilot, the once fiery Lt. Commander Dominus, had slipped away into obscurity. The death of the Empire weighed heavily upon her heart, though not nearly as much as the loss of its original leader. Leopold Torquemada, a self-styled savoir, had forcibly taken control of the entire government a few short months prior. His xenophobic dedication to eradicating the Earth's "psychic threat" had been rewarded with an assassin's bullet. The lieutenant had been one of his closest aides, and supposedly his lover, if one believed the rumour mill.  
  
Watching her retreating form vanish around a corner, sombre face and sorrowful eyes concealed as she lowered her head, Sebastian felt a small chord of sympathy. In her own extreme way, the lieutenant embodied the collective emotions of the entire Grand Cross military, her mixed sensations of frustration, sadness, and loss all converging into some unspeakable pathos. Every one of them had seen at least one comrade die before their eyes, or had heard the rumours of what grim fate awaited them at the UA's hands. Melancholy was in the air; the end was inevitable.  
  
No, not the end, he thought, but merely a pause between acts.  
  
Turning about, he stepped onward towards the silent form of the massive mobile suit, his gaze locking with the deep emerald of its sensor eyes. As the technician ran a priming charge through its systems, the Gundam suddenly shuddered, energy flaring into its body. A gantry ladder joined the space between the hanger floor and its cockpit, dangling along the machines form. As he climbed, Sebastian saw that Shinka's body was a landscape of scratches, bullet punctures, and dents. Still, nothing merited any serious attention; it could fly, and that was all he wanted.  
  
Easing into the padded seat, Sebastian swept away the small trinkets that Dominus had left behind. The keepsakes, reminders, and tokens that constituted the last of her shattered life were cast outside the opening, raining to the deck with a clatter. With hesitation, he glanced at the last object left in his hand, a gold uniform patch that bore the charging silhouette of a medieval horseman. It was the insignia of the Seventh Colonial Guard, a noble unit that bore his name in its moniker. "Sebastian's Knight's;" they had been a source of great pride to him, even after he had received his abrupt "promotion." Loyal, honourable, and courageous until the end, they were now a decimated memory. Caressing the patch's surface, he allowed his stone features falter again, for a moment, before letting it slip through his fingers. It fluttered a few feet outward before disappearing amid the growing disorder below his gaze.  
  
The cockpit clamped shut, casting him in incidental darkness before a series of instrument panels activated. Watching the Gundam awaken to its full ferocious potential, Sebastian smiled. Easing the left joystick of the command chair forward, he felt the low vibration of its rumbling hydraulics, and heard the resonating echo of its heavy footfalls. The machine was alive; battered, beaten, and clutching at its wounds, but alive. Satisfied, he proceeded to the hanger's launch catapult, taking one last moment to look over the turbulent scene.  
  
Panic still reigned, but some semblance of dignity did shine through among a brave few. Sebastian secretly hoped that all of them, even the lowliest labourer, would escape to whatever new existence they had concocted. Still, he knew better. Before the day was done, some of them would still be dead, a few by their own hand. Resigning himself, he marched the Gundam onward, letting the catapult's life carry him to the station's surface, and to whatever destiny might lie beyond.  
  
Nearby, a desolate corridor rang with the discharge of Sydney Dominus' service pistol.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Two hours ago, Brian Amis had awakened. One hour ago his sedatives had worn off. Fifteen minutes ago, he had been given a mirror. Now, he faintly wished that he had never regained consciousness at all.  
  
Turning the small mirror over in his hand, Brian examined his face with a morbid fascination. After the UA recovery teams had pried open his mobile suit, he had been whisked away to the closest medical ship, and placed in intensive care. Just over a week had passed since then, though the physicians had only gotten around to his operation yesterday. The burns to his flesh had been extensive, heavily damaging portions of left cheek and arm, requiring grafts of pseudo-flesh to prevent infection. Looking at his reflection, however, he began to curse his very survival.  
  
The cosmetic alterations to the artificial skin had not yet been added, only the initial layer of simulated tissue and veins. It resembled a clear, plastic wrap, perfectly transparent. Tracing a finger down his left cheek, he paused at the gaping hole that exposed his jaw and gum line. Small splinters of the material laced further along his features, curling up to the gnarled remains of his ear. That, he amended, explained why his hearing was garbled, as if he was underwater.  
  
One pathway stopped short of his eye, curling about before merging with another that met the edge of his nose. Portions of his upper lip had been replaced as well, giving him the rationale for why he dribbled liquids when they were brought to him. His face felt numb, a lack of sensation that he would have to become accustomed too. Modern medicine had not yet replicated the intricacies of natural skin, not to their fullest. For now, this facsimile was as advanced a replacement as he could hope for, a mask that his doctor would soon colour to match the rest of him.  
  
Quietly, Amis set the mirror down. He was too tired to rage, or to hurl it across the room. This was something that he would just have to accept, something that would seem normal in due time. Still, he doubted that his life would ever be quite the same. The UA had no place for maimed soldiers who had lost their command, along with their mobile suit. If he was to remain enlisted, it would be on the lowliest terms possible. For now, though, he chose not to dwell on that, and simply sought the escape that lingered in sleep.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Gabriel Sinclair sat alone in his cell, listening to the low growl of his own stomach as it voiced its discontent. Four days without a stable meal, his captors having provided only a consistent supply of water to keep him alive. He guessed that all Grand Cross prisoners of war were receiving the same reception or perhaps something even worse. He wondered what would ultimately become of him. Would the UA's intelligence officers drag him out for more questioning? Would he be left to rot here until starvation claimed him? Or would he be tossed into a war crimes trial to ease the public consciousness? Neither of these roads sounded particularly pleasant.  
  
Horror stories about one's enemy were a hallmark of war. While he undergoing his initial training, he recalled the rumour-driven tales of his fellow cadets, speaking of the tyrannical and primitive practices of the Earth's armed forces. He imagined that the UA troopers told the same stories to their own peers, each side getting themselves into a terrified fever over the sinister cruelty that the other bred wherever they stepped.  
  
Pretty pathetic, when one thought about it.  
  
Sighing, Gabriel turned his attention back to the stain mottled ceiling of his five by seven foot prison. He continued to ponder the various questions that nagged at his mind. Were they going to execute him? Would he even get a trial? What had happened to Silvia? Turning on his side, he restrained a frustrated yell, giving his pillow a punch instead. The less noise he made, the more he behaved, the better they would likely treat him.  
  
The sudden 'swish' of his cell door sliding open jarred his attention. Sitting up, Gabriel squinted towards the white light that framed his latest visitor. The uniformed intel inquisitor, a man who answered simply to the name of Welsh, stood before him, his usual Cheshire smile framing his features.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Sinclair, good to see you in such fine health," his tone was patronizing, each word biting into Gabriel with a profound edge of arrogance.  
  
"Thanks," Gabriel replied, trying to feign a cheerful tone. "I can't say I care for the place, though. The room's a little stuffy, the sheets are always dirty, and the food service just sucks."  
  
"Well," Welsh returned, his bemused voice perpetual, "you're in luck. It looks like you've had the good fortune of being cleared of any war crimes charges." He paused, for effect.  
  
"So, I'm free to go? Great!" Gabriel hopped to his feet, dusting off his flight suit coat, and proceeded for the door. "It's been real," he said, allowing a little malice to escape into his words this time.  
  
"Not so fast," the officer's smile broadened as he blocked the younger man's path. "You still have to serve your conditional labour sentence. You were, after all, the enemy." He latched a little emphasis to this last word, poking at Gabriel's resolve.  
  
"What?!" Gabriel exclaimed, totally caught off guard. "You're going to make me break rocks in some mining shaft for the rest of my life?"  
  
"Nothing so crude," Welsh chuckled. "As a minimal security risk, you've been assigned to one of our new, "cooperative" battalions. We are, after all, trying to help the innocent soldiers of the late Grand Cross continue their duties as protectors."  
  
"Drafted slavery is more like it..." Gabriel muttered, affixing a scowl to his face.  
  
"Call it what you will, Mr. Sinclair," Welsh shrugged, still very enthusiastic in his demeanor. "Or, should I say, Corporal Sinclair? In any event, the point is moot. You are to be assigned already, to serve a minimum of three years tending to duties aboard a vessel in our illustrious space fleet. Try to make the best of it; it beats a firing squad." Departing with a polite wave, Welsh walked on down the hall, a slight spring in his step.  
  
Behind him, the reeling Gabriel was left with a sense of muted hatred. Lashing out at Welsh would surely have won him more time in the stockade, along with a quick re-evaluation of his "threat" status. All he could do was make the best of this terrible situation, and ride it out. Besides, it couldn't be that bad, could it? 


End file.
